#personal hc is that they saw her thru cameras and told the secretary to let her thru ftr fuck that guy

[flickeringquip]

(1) You've always been a little wary of the Magnate.

(pt. 1 | feat. @thedolmainblog's Aiden — I promise this will go somewhere more exciting in the next part askfhbaf)

From the moment you'd been close enough to actually watch them interact with others, something had pinged in your hind-brain, warning you away.

Then, it had been easy to listen to. Your work for Landry didn't really necessitate you interacting with them much at all, beyond a nod or two in passing. You weren't much for meetings — for all that you played a large part in intel-gathering, you left the more administrative work to your other co-workers.

You could do it in a pinch, but why would you with more capable hands there and at the ready?

(1) Now, however. . .

Things are more complicated, now that you're dating Blythe. The good kind of complicated, obviously, but definitely an adjustment.

Like right now, for example.

You'd mentioned off-hand watching a movie that it'd be fun to bring him lunch some time, and the way his entire countenance had brightened had had you silently committing to the idea even as he assured you that you didn't have to bother.

For all that he's your boyfriend, you don't always understand Blythe — for someone so willing to re-arrange his entire living room overnight because of a furniture piece you'd admired in passing, he struggled to fathom you might wanna do nice things for him too.

(1) Mostly, this just made you want to do more nice things for him. Like you could somehow out-spoil his attempts to spoil you.

And so you find yourself in the lobby of the town's biggest office building, lunch*-turned-care-package in hand and trying not to feel wildly out of place in your jeans and long-sleeved crop-top.

(*Bought, and not made, because you'd tried that once and discovered hours later that you'd given Blythe what was definitely food poisoning, despite how he tried to convince you otherwise. You would just lie if he asked.)

It takes a little bit before you can grab the receptionist's attention because you'd inadvertently seemed to come at a bit of a rush, sequestering yourself off to the side more out of habit than necessity — people seemed to very, very rarely bump into you these days, but old habits and all that.

(1) You do end up coming up a bit short when they ask you what your business is.

You'd been pretty sure Blythe had mentioned being around the office today, but it dawns on you only then that maybe you should've texted him before you came for some sort of confirmation — but it's not much of surprise if he knows you're coming, now is it?

But you also don't think he has an office to speak of, for the same reason you've never needed one at the Bar.

(1) So you. . . Improvise?

"Can you tell me which floor I can find Aiden's office?" You lift the paper bag in your hand by way of explanation, "I brought lunch."

The man's face twists like he's bitten into a lemon as he stares between you and the bag like either of you could explode at any moment.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Oh, no, but I'm not here to—"

"The CEO is a very business individual; you need an appointment, even for. . . social calls."

Rude. No need to say it like that.

"I mean, yeah, of course they are? But if you'd just listen, I'm actually here to see B—"

(1) A sharp ding from the receptionist's computer steals both of your attention, and you watch the man's face contort even further in confusion as he steals yet more glances between you and your carefully-selected lunch.

"You. . . can go ahead," You think you should maybe be a little offended by their blatant shock at this turn of events, but mostly you're still a little baffled, "Top floor, just go straight— and behave yourself!"

Did jeans really make you look like some kind of ruffian, or have your years of criminal work started to affect your countenance?

You continue mulling over that thought all the way up, a little fascinated that you're not stopped even once along the way despite how many floors you pass.

You arrive, greeted by a set of double doors at the end of a short hallway — and spectacular views to either side of you, glass replacing much of the walls for a bird's eye view of most of the city. You admire the sights for only a moment before turning to the doors, hovering for a moment as you're once again reminded that you don't actually know if Blythe is even in the building at the moment.

(1) You. . knock?

You rap your knuckles against the solid wood, and wait just long enough to start second guessing yourself before you hear an electronic lock open, and take that as your cue to open the door.

The first thing you notice is that the space is immaculate — straight out of some rookie secretary's dream office, or at least what you imagine someone's dream office to look like.

The next is Aiden — obviously, this was their office (building) — smiling at you from their desk as they give a little wave of their fingers.

And, last but certainly not least— No Blythe.

(1) . . .Well, shit.

"Aster, what a pleasant surprise."

Tension snakes up your spine before you shove it back down, determined to at least seem at ease with your boyfriend's boss as you turn your attention to them. It's strange to hear them say your name, though you suppose it's not that weird for them to know it, between your connection to Blythe and length of time you've been working for Landry.

"Hi Aiden," You cringe a little at your own informality, but give them a tentative half-smile and lift the paper bag in your hand, their gaze brightening in understanding, "Is Blythe around?"

"He was, but I just sent him on a bit of errand — I'm afraid he won't be back for a couple of hours."

You nod but don't ask any questions — you're still pretty twitchy about potential conflicts of interest. It's about the only thing in your relationship that still gives you anxiety, not that you've breathed a word of it to Blythe. With all that he does for you already, you really don't want to put anything more on his plate.

You don't know what you'd do if Landry asked you to steal Intel from Aiden, but so far you're really just banking on your boss not deciding to give you what is basically a suicide mission any time soon.

(1) You give a hum in response, lips twisting as you glance down at the bag. You'd sooner surprise him with dinner and do lunch another day than give him old leftovers, but you're not really hungry yourself—

You glance back up at Aiden, who is still watching you with the same genial smile they've always given you, halo glittering above their head. Something about them still unnerves you, but the feeling weakens the longer you study them.

. . . The worst thing they could say is no, right?

"Are you hungry?" You venture closer to the desk, still feeling a little skittish but committed to offering, "No sense letting it go to waste."

For a half-second, you think maybe you've surprised them — and then they're smiling again, expression a little bit warmer, halo a little brighter.

"I suppose I could squeeze in a break," They stand, and for once you find the usual alarm bells silent as they feature to a small seating area near the windows, "—If you'll join me for tea in exchange?"

And, well.

Maybe you'd put a little too much stock into what was just an assumption? Wouldn't it be nice if you got along with Blythe's boss? Maybe it'd even help with some of your lingering anxiety?

Maybe you were just being paranoid?

(1) And thus began the beginning of the end your friendship(?) with Aiden.